Hannah laid her head on his shoulder. “I’ll lie down. But Brodie has to come get me when he wakes up. I want to make my fort for Grandda.”
“Aye, lass. I’ll wake ye. I won’t rest long either. Promise.” But his next words were for Rachel. “You and I still need to talk about the bairn.”
She was pretty sure he was going to let her have it for getting stuck babysitting, and that he didn’t want a repeat of it tomorrow. Maybe if she talked extra fast, and nagged the quilters, she could make them finish their Christmas Tree quilts today. But the way the quilters were lingering over their sewing—gabbing about family, Christmas, and all sorts of things—they wouldn’t be done until next Christmas.
“Here.” Rachel put her arms out. “I’ll take her up and get her settled.”
“Nay,” Hannah said. “I want Brodie.” She squeezed him extra tight.
This time, though, Rachel felt a pang of something else. The way her daughter latched on to this man had Rachel wondering if she’d deprived Hannah of a father figure for too long. For a second, Rachel regretted not dating the last few years, but the thought passed just as quickly. She’d seen enough divorced moms at work to know what they went through—the stress of dating and raising kids at the same time. Sometimes the kids lost out.
The other something that niggled was jealousy. Rachel had been everything to Hannah, but now she seemed to have Brodie, too. The thought of sharing Hannah with someone else played uncomfortably against her wanting a second chance with the only man who had ever truly captured her heart.
Be careful what you wish for sang through her memories, something her mother used to say to Rachel when she was growing up. Her decision to talk to Brodie about starting over was feeling more complicated by the minute.
“I’ll take her,” he said. “But stay put. We will talk.”
As he walked away with her daughter, she reached up and toyed with the necklace. Maybe she’d jumped the gun. She wasn’t in her early twenties anymore, when love and romance were her greatest desire . . . to secure at all costs. She was older, wiser, and had Hannah to consider. Was she really ready to bring a man into the Girls Only Club she’d formed with her daughter?
Her inner voice barged in, Do not second-guess yourself now. You’re just scared of getting everything you ever wanted.
Maybe that little voice was right. Maybe Rachel was letting her doubts sabotage her one chance with Brodie. Her only chance at true love.
Brodie is worth the sacrifice, the voice said. Besides, this is it. He’ll be down in a minute. He wants to talk about us.
“Perhaps,” Rachel said aloud. Right now, though, she wasn’t quite sure of anything.
* * *
It took more than a minute for Brodie to get the little mite down. She insisted he sing her a song, but he refused resolutely. It wasn’t that he was scared to sing to her or anyone else. Hell, every time Gandiegow gathered, they were making him stand up to sing.
It was just the ductwork in the cottage. Voices carried. Songs carried. Other things carried as well . . . but that was an awful memory Brodie kept locked away. He also refused to think about the heartache he’d felt when he’d heard through the vent that his mum was marrying again . . . before the snow was even melted on his da’s grave.
Regardless, if he sang to Hannah now, Rachel would be able to hear and he didn’t want her to get the wrong idea about things. Well, any more wrong than whatever she thought already. By the way she was looking at him with cow eyes and wearing his mum’s locket, he wasn’t sure what she was up to.
“Now be good and I’ll be up to get ye before ye know it,” he said to Hannah as he went to the door.
“Okay.” By the way the little girl’s eyes were drooping, she’d be asleep before he crossed the threshold.
Outside on the upstairs landing, he took a minute to figure out what he was going to say to Rachel. He was steaming mad at how trusting Hannah was, and Rachel had to know she was in the wrong of it.
He didn’t stomp down the stairs, though his mood called for it. He found Rachel in the parlor, waiting, as he’d told her to do. Her fingers still clutched his mother’s locket and he watched as his mood registered on her face. Good, she has a clue. She dropped her hand to her side.
“What’s wrong?” She seemed worried and concerned. “Is it Hannah?”
“Not here.” He wouldn’t let the girl be subjected to their argument, through the vent or otherwise. “Step outside. I’ve something to say.”
She glanced upward, as if seeing through the floorboards to the bedroom where her daughter napped.
“We’ll stay on the porch. The bairn will be all right for a couple of minutes.”
She headed for the door, and from the hook, she grabbed her jacket. He didn’t, as the cold would do his ire good.
As soon as they were outside, she jumped in again. “Tell me. What’s going on?”
He raised an eyebrow. “Yere daughter.”
“I’m sorry you had to babysit.” She seemed to be thinking about her words. “And sorry you’ll have to babysit some more this afternoon. But you understand, don’t you, I can’t have Deydie making Hannah feel like she’s unwanted at Quilting Central?”
He sighed, exasperated. “That’s not it. It’s you and how ye’re raising that girl.” The lass took to people too easily.
“What?” Rachel’s pitch rose. “You don’t have any right—”
He put his hand up. “First off, she doesn’t know a stranger. She’s too naïve. She went away with me and she doesn’t know me from Adam.”
Rachel shook her head adamantly. “You’re family. And you’re a dead ringer for Joe.” Immediately her eyebrows pinched together as if her choice of words pained her. She looked away.
“Exactly. What happens when the next person who looks like Joe comes along? Is Hannah going to let him carry her off, too?”
“It’s sweet you’re worried about her.” Rachel reached out, but he pulled away before she could touch him.
He stepped back to put distance between them. “Ye’ve got it all wrong.”
“It’s okay.” She stared at him intently. “You don’t know this about Hannah, but she’s special.”
“I know she’s special.” And precious. Though the thought made him feel weak. He was acting way too protective. Hannah wasn’t his bairn.
“My mother and I agree on this one thing; Hannah has an excellent crap detector. I’ve seen her radar work a thousand times. She can sense who the bad ones are and pick out the good ones. You ought to see her at the hotel. She knows who she can trust.” Rachel paused for a moment as if she was gauging whether to say more. Finally, she boldly stared into his eyes. “And she trusts you.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he hissed. “Ye need to tell her to be more cautious of people. Which takes me to my second point: Living in a hotel, the way that ye do, how often do ye abandon yere child?” The words felt wrong the second he said them. Of course she was a good mother. That was as evident as the water in the ocean and the clouds in the sky. “I didn’t—”
But Rachel had already slammed her hands on her hips. “Don’t judge my parenting skills. You don’t know anything about it. About me.” But once again her words seemed to pain her.
But from the moment he met Rachel, he did know her. Really know her. Soul-mate-level stuff.
“You can’t let anything happen to her.” Brodie felt like he was pleading. Bad things could change people irrevocably, especially children. He’d seen it happen to Joe.
Rachel wasn’t looking at him compassionately now. She was incensed, glaring at him like he’d accused her of neglect. Which he had, and didn’t mean to.
She had more fillet knives to throw at him. “Just because my daughter is a good judge of people doesn’t mean I don’t watch her like a hawk. I worry over her like any other mother.”
He didn’t get to open his mouth to tell her she was a great mum because Rachel was on a tirade.
“Scratch that. I worry more than other mothers. Because I’m both mother and father to her. I’ve talked with her about the danger of strangers. I need to make this really clear . . . raising Hannah is my business.” But then her features stilled as if she was weighing her words and her thoughts. She looked down like she was rethinking everything. Perhaps even her decision to come to Scotland. And she seemed lost.
He didn’t like her looking like she missed her chance at the lifeboat. He wanted to pull her into his arms and assure her everything was going to all right. But he couldn’t.
Dammit! He absolutely couldn’t allow her to bewitch him again. He couldn’t withstand another one of her blows to his heart. He needed her gone from Gandiegow, and he knew just the thing to say to send her packing.
“Aye. Right. None of my business,” he said sardonically. “Now who was it that got stuck babysitting yere daughter this morning?” The truth was he’d really enjoyed the tea party with Hannah and wouldn’t take back one moment of his time with the wee lass.
Rachel huffed as well as Deydie ever did, and didn’t back down when she went in for what she thought was the kill. “I never meant for you to end up at tea with your pinky in the air.” As if it was an afterthought, she added the rest. “I’ll make sure to pay you for your time.”
She could’ve said anything. She could’ve made fun of him for the barrette Hannah insisted he wear. She could’ve called him Nanny McPhee. But Rachel Granger had to drive home the point and remind him of the one reason she’d married Joe six years ago instead of him. Joe was slick, smooth, successful. Brodie was nothing more than a fisherman, working on his grandda’s boat. Not good enough for the likes of her then. Not good enough for her now.
* * *
Rachel walked away angry at Brodie for illuminating the hole in her plan for them to live happily ever after as a family. Why couldn’t life be simpler? Why couldn’t she have the man she wanted without the hassle of real life interfering? Maybe her second chance with him was nothing but a fantasy cooked up in her wishful-thinking heart.
Since Hannah’s birth, Rachel had been the be-all-end-all in the household, the adult, the queen mama, the one who called the shots—the one luxury of being a single parent. The only one who ever questioned her choices was her mother, Vivienne. But Rachel had learned to become slightly deaf in that camp. Rachel liked not answering to anyone.
That little voice piped up again. But don’t couples argue about parenting?
Yes. And money, sex, and everything else under the sun.
Then don’t give up, encouraged the little voice.
Rachel would have to be more realistic going forward. They weren’t a couple yet. She guessed if she and Brodie and Hannah were to be a family, she’d have to give up some of her control. Was the chance at true love worth that? Hell, yes, said her heart. But fairytale endings were easier to believe in when she didn’t have to think about the compromises that successful marriages required.
She knew of some successful marriages—people she worked with—but the majority of her employees had failed at relationships.
Well, Rachel said to herself, I’ll just have to compromise and work with Brodie. Maybe listen to his ideas . . . and heed a few.
She looked up to realize she’d made it back to Quilting Central.
She didn’t want to go in just yet. But she couldn’t stay out here either. At that moment her cell phone rang. For a second, she wondered if it wasn’t Brodie calling her, wanting her to come back so he could apologize. Just more wishful thinking.
She pulled the phone from her coat pocket and saw it was her mother calling.
“Hi, Mom.” Rachel tried to sound as sunny as the beach her mother was lying on. With her latest beau. Rachel didn’t begrudge her mother’s male companionship; her retirement had turned into an endless cycle of new men. After working all those years in hospitality and taking care of others, her mother had finally found a hobby.
Mom cleared her throat on the other end, which didn’t bode well for Rachel. “A text message isn’t exactly the same as hearing your voice to know you made it to Scotland safely.”
No hello, just guilt.
“Sorry. We’ve been busy.”
“Doing what? I thought you said Abraham was sick.”
“It’s a long story.”
“I’ve got all day.”
“What about Roberto?” Rachel said, redirecting.
“That’s over.”
No. “You’re all alone in the Caribbean?”
“I came home to Chicago.”
“You can’t be alone for Christmas.” More guilt piled onto Rachel. She worked all the holidays, but her mother always came to take up the slack, never missing a Christmas since Hannah was born. She’d come to the hotel and hang out with her granddaughter, then the three of them would have the special meal that Chef would cook just for them. This year, with her mother traipsing off to the island, seemed like the perfect opportunity for Rachel to bring Hannah to Scotland to visit Abraham. Vivienne was busy so Rachel didn’t have to worry about her. But now she did.
“I’ll be all right.” But Vivienne’s voice wasn’t convincing.
“Come to Scotland,” Rachel blurted. “We’ll find some place for you to stay.” When she’d gotten married in Gandiegow, her mother had stayed with one of the local quilters. Or maybe Deydie would let Vivienne have one of the vacant beds at the quilting dorms.
But just as quickly, Rachel wished she could rescind the offer. Vivienne would be another added complication to the already complicated situation that Rachel was in.
“I believe I will,” Vivienne said excitedly. “Christmas in Scotland might be just the thing to raise my spirits. I’ll have to book right away. I’ll text you and let you know when I’m going to arrive. I thought Gandiegow was charming when I was there before.”
She must’ve forgotten all the sour looks she’d gotten from Deydie and the others.
Rachel thought about mentioning Brodie, but for only a millisecond. Vivienne would be all over the subject like flies on dead fish. That conversation could wait. Rachel shuddered, reliving her mother’s long list of grievances when speaking of Brodie, but one stuck out above the others: He’s not good enough for you.
Rachel sighed heavily. Christmas was turning into a disaster. “I’ll tell Hannah you’re coming.” And maybe give Deydie and the rest of the village a heads-up. All Rachel wanted was to come to Gandiegow for Hannah to have a quiet visit with Abraham. Slip in, slip out, with no fuss.
But her idea of an easy visit had taken an off-the-map turn the moment she saw Brodie in town. Her heart still wanted that second chance, but as she said good-bye to her mother and hung up, she felt Brodie slipping through her fingers again.
She looked heavenward. “Help.” It was the most straightforward and clear prayer she’d ever said.
“Are you okay?”
Rachel jumped at Cait’s voice.
“Oh, hi,” she said, feeling stupid for having spoken aloud. “How are you feeling? Better?”
Cait looked good, no green around her gills today.
“Aye. I’m well. Especially since I just spoke with Graham and he’ll be home soon. Mattie is so excited.” Cait looked excited, too.
Rachel wanted to ask whether she planned to tell Graham right away about the baby. “I’m anxious to meet Mattie. He sounds like a great kid.”
Cait laughed. “He is.” She paused for a second. “Since we have a moment, I wanted to let you know something about Mattie. He doesn’t talk much.” She looked as if she had more to say but didn’t know how to go about it.
“Oh?”
“Aye. He was traumatized when he saw a boat go down over there.” She pointed to the rocks at a distance from the shore. “Al
l the fishermen drowned. Mattie had nightmares for a long time, but with therapy he seems to be getting better.”
Rachel noticed Cait didn’t bring up that Mattie’s father had died as well. Poor kid.
“Thanks for letting me know,” Rachel said.
“We better get inside before we freeze. But before we do, I have something for you.” Cait gave her a Ziploc bag full of tartan scraps. “I thought you might need more for your collection.”
“These are fantastic.” The Buchanan plaid jumped out at Rachel as it had bright yellows in it. “Thank you so much.” She smiled at Cait, but then remembered Deydie was waiting. “I better get inside. I’ve been gone quite a while and your grandmother might string me up if I don’t get back to teaching.” Rachel screwed up her face. “I kind of slipped out when she wasn’t looking.”
Cait laughed, looping her arm through Rachel’s. “I’ll grab her broom when we step in to save ye from a good whack, but I can’t save you from one of Gran’s famous tongue-lashings.” She pulled the door open. “Good luck.”
Thankfully, Deydie was busy balling out a young woman who was named Sinnie. Cait settled herself behind her sewing machine, but not before giving Rachel a wink while she safely stowed Deydie’s broom under the table at her feet.
Rachel deposited her bag of plaid scraps next to her sewing machine, returned to the front, and started the next lesson. Deydie glanced up and glowered. Uh-oh . . . busted.
The rest of the day went well, everyone making progress on their Christmas Tree quilts. Several times, though, when Rachel returned to her sewing machine, she’d find more bags of plaid fabric scraps stashed with her things. Freda, Pippa, and Moira were brave enough to deliver their tartan scraps to Rachel in person. By the time it was late afternoon, she needed a good-sized container in which to store all her newly acquired fabric.
Deydie lumbered over and frowned at all the plaid pieces Rachel was organizing, but thankfully, said nothing about them. “Git on home to yere bairn. I expect ye back here first thing in the morn.”
It Happened in Scotland Page 9